These Are My JOTtings, Part #2

What's Jesus Really Like?

Too much of church can make us blanch
when really all we want to know
is Who is Jesus? Can He stanch
the bleedings of the soul, that grow?

Some give up trying, since the pain
is just not worth the heart's expense.
"Don't talk of God, nor try to gain
a hold in me. Just soap and rinse."

The record shows that in His Day
one Jesus hailed from Nazareth.
He taught three years, but on display
seemed failures, and His growing threat.

He preached against the ones in charge.
The men He taught weren't upper crust.
His unlettered status loomed so large,
betrayal by His friend seemed just.

Once tried and killed on Sabbath's Eve,
they put to rest the rabbi's voice.
Not given even one reprieve.
The mass of Man's "free will," this choice.

The dead man's birth, now, counts our years.
So many humans call Him, "Lord!"
His greatest Gift removes all fears.
The greatest Book recounts His Word.

They killed Him, but no one can find
His body in some lowly grave.
Though Mozart's grave is like this kind,
none ever calls on him to save.

When Jesus came, a little Child
relied He on another's arms.
This Teacher, perfect, died so mild,
arose as seen, not touched by worms.

All outcast souls His Eyes now see.
The deepest peace His atonement gives.
The frightened heart, just He can free.
His Substitution life now gives.

O, call on Him, dear fallen soul.
His Mercies are of truth the best.
His Merits now can make thee whole.
Forever in Him we are blest.

by Jay O’Toole
on June 23rd, 2025